


The Catfish Also Rises

by SegaBarrett



Series: DJ Hey Dave [2]
Category: Jethro Tull (Band), Queen (Band)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Innuendo Time Period, John Deacon's Cold, Press Being Assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 22:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17516687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: Avoiding the deluge of the press, Queen go on an adventure in 1991.





	The Catfish Also Rises

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Queen or Ian Anderson and make no money from this. 
> 
> A/N: Uh, so this happened. 
> 
> Content warning: Some references to Freddie's illness, mainly the press treatment of it, but pretty light.

The stubborn British sun rose on a good day in early 1991.

Freddie Mercury was standing in front of a mirror with Brian May behind him, picking a single piece of fuzz out of the back of Freddie’s hair.

John Deacon was off to the side, slumped slightly, tired. 

Roger Taylor kept pacing.

The radio was playing, low and thrumming against the air.

“A man was recently spotted licking someone’s doorbell for four hours. He was gone when the police got there, but they are asking neighbors to be on the lookout.”

Freddie exchanged glances with Roger.

“Nah, it can’t be,” Roger said. 

Freddie stood up with a shot and began to slowly creep downstairs, holding on to the railing as he hid from view.

“No one is licking your doorbell, Freddie,” Brian cautioned as he followed him. 

“We don’t know for sure until we go and see,” Freddie replied.

“You’re being dramatic,” Brian told him.

“I don’t want someone licking my doorbell,” Freddie whispered. He peeked out the door and turned around with an annoyed look. “No doorbell-lickers. Just the press.”

“They’re killing me,” Roger grumbled. “Don’t they have something better to do?”

“I wish we could get out of here a moment, just a moment,” Freddie mused. “I haven’t been out in the open air in…” He paused, scratching at his chin. “Well, quite a while. I’m not really one to be a wilting flower in a vase.”

“Then we make our escape?” Brian suggested. “But how, exactly? And where do we go?”

Freddie walked back up the steps into his room. He turned to look at the radio. 

“This is DJ Hey Dave…” the radio crooned.

He shut it off, and drummed his fingers against it.

“I know just the place.”

***

Freddie wasn’t sure how he still had the glasses from the We Will Rock You video, which were also the glasses from the Spread Your Wings video, but he did. He set them on his face and pulled a big coat around himself, tilting his head forward and back as he yawned.

Boredom was a hell of a thing. 

“Are you sure about this, Freddie?” Roger asked.

“Let’s give the people what they want,” Freddie replied.

They stepped out the front door and on to the sidewalk.

“Freddie! Freddie! Freddie!” members of the press exclaimed.

“Chaisie Lockhart with the Star,” one reporter yelled, a thin blonde woman with a microphone as large as her head, “Freddie what can you tell us about the state of your health?”

“I have an announcement,” John declared, spreading his arms upward in a dramatic motion. “Everyone listen to me. There are important developments in the health of this band that I must announce to the world.” They all turned. “Last week…” They all leaned in. “I had a cold. I went to A&E and I waited for an hour. And they gave me a strep throat test, because I thought that maybe I had strep throat. And they checked, and I didn’t have strep throat. Then I thought maybe I had the flu. And they said, ‘You don’t have the flu. But you have a virus.’ Just, you know, ‘a virus’. And then they wrote me a prescription for extra-strength ibuprofen. And I said, so how is this different than regular ibuprofen? And they said, ‘It’s like three ibuprofen together’. And I said, ‘Why can’t I just take three ibuprofen?’ And the doctor said, ‘Well, you could.’ And then I left. I thought it was important for all of you to know this, since I know a lot of questions have been going around about band member health.”

Chaisie Lockhart screamed and ripped the first three pages of her pad of paper up.

Roger, Brian and Freddie ducked into the car, Freddie letting the side door hang slightly open. 

John jumped inside.

“Shut the door, shut the door!” Roger yelled, reaching over to pull the door shut.

“I thought I was going to pass out!” John exclaimed. “I’ve never said that much in public before in my life.”

“We’re going to hold a vigil for your cold, Deacy,” Brian assured him. “We’re all deeply concerned.”

Freddie crossed himself. 

“Our thoughts and prayers are with you, Deacy.”

“Where are you boys going?” Freddie’s driver asked.

“Radnage!” Freddie declared.

“All the way to Radnage? Well, that’s an hour at least.”

Freddie proceeded to play with the button the rolled the window up and down.

“Radnage it is.”

***

“Looks like we lost the press in there somewhere,” Brian said, looking out the window. “I still don’t understand them.”

“They printed a picture of my face, with arrows, trying to point out spots. They weren’t even spots, they were just my face,” Freddie mused. He rubbed a finger against his forehead. “That has always been like that, hasn’t it?”

“To be honest, Fred, we have been wondering what was wrong with your face since you joined the band,” Brian quipped. Freddie threw a piece of paper at him.

“We’re here,” the driver announced. “Do they know you’re coming?”

“Not exactly,” Brian said, and they all hopped out.

Freddie sauntered up to the front door and, after staring at it for a long moment, rang the doorbell.

Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull came to the door and looked at him.

“Hello?”

“We wanted to come tell you we like the new single,” Freddie declared. “Also, if we could hide out here from the press.”

Ian seemed to consider this for a moment and then said, “Sure. Why not?”

They walked in and Freddie slumped down on Ian’s couch, looking around.

“I like it!” he exclaimed. “It’s very rustic.”

“Thank you,” Ian said. “I like it, too. So what really brings you here? I know we met a few years back but… it’s kind of a surprise to see you. Not a bad one, but a surprise.”

John looked at him apologetically.

“We’re hiding from the press. They keep hounding Freddie.”

“Ah, yes. Well, I’ve had the misfortune of the papers declaring me at death’s door, too. Earlier this year, in fact. If they had their way we would all be dying as they watched, flashbulbs capturing every second,” Ian said, going to the liquor cabinet. “Would you like a drink?”

“Stoli, Stoli, Stoli!” Freddie exclaimed eagerly.

“I think he would like some Stoli,” Brian said.

Ian opened the cabinet and got Freddie a bottle of Stoli and a glass. 

Freddie poured an entire glass of Stoli and laid back.

“He likes Stoli,” Roger explained. 

“Correction. I love Stoli, as you love your car.”

“You are all going to never let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope,” the rest of the band declared.

“Did you want to see the salmon?” Ian asked, and everyone stared at him.

“The salmon?” Freddie asked.

***

“Why do you have salmon? Just… an entire salmon… farm? Lake? Experience?” Freddie peeked down and blinked his eyes. “I think they’re mating. They’re swimming upstream.”

“I think you’re mating, Freddie,” Brian shot back. Freddie threw a leaf at him. 

“I also do work with big cats,” Ian explained. “These are just a few of my hobbies… When I’m not in the studio, you know.”

“Do you have a jaguar walking around here?” Freddie inquired. “That’s gonna end up in The Sun.”

“Queen Singer Eaten by Jaguar,” Roger quipped.

“Subtitle: But what was his health like?” Freddie added.

“Better, before the jaguar ate him,” Roger decided.

“No, I don’t have any jaguars or other cats on the actual property. Well, just a few actual cats. Not big cats.”

“Cats!” Freddie exclaimed.

“You got him started,” Brian sighed.

***

After a few hours of petting every cat on the property, Freddie was tired as well as covered in cat hair, but happy.

He gave Ian a hug.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “I plan to continue to harass DJs to play the new single.”

“…That was you?” Ian asked. “I think he thought it was me.”

They shuffled into the car and then, promptly, hit the road.

“I think I really do have a cold,” John said, “I definitely jinxed myself.”

They drove to the nearest pharmacy and all piled out as John attempted to slip in to purchase ibuprofen.

Freddie was staring out at the evening sky when a girl ran up to him.

“Are you Freddie Mercury?” she asked.

“…I think so.”

She pounded her hands together and let off without taking a breath, “The Sun said you looked bad at the Brit Awards but I don’t think you look bad, I think you look hot and you were very handsome in your blue suit and I can’t believe it’s you, can I hug you?”

“…Okay.”

She hugged him and then ran off.

Freddie blinked.

“You know, I didn’t want to tell you how handsome you looked in your blue suit,” Roger told him.

“We didn’t want your head getting too big,” Brian agreed. “Gotta keep you humble.”

***

“Rip Van Winkle… is me,” Freddie mumbled as they made their way into Garden Lodge. “And I am going to sleep good tonight.”

He climbed into his bed.

“At least you stopped worrying about someone licking your doorbell,” Brian said cheerfully.

“BRIAN!” everyone exclaimed.

They all threw paper at him.


End file.
